


Khazâd ai-mênu!

by preraphhobbit



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Battle of Five Armies, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 07:06:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preraphhobbit/pseuds/preraphhobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>**WARNING** EXPLICIT VIOLENCE///MAJOR CHARACTER DEATHS///MAJOR SPOILERS///<br/>The final moments of Fili and Kili, the last of Durin's line.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Khazâd ai-mênu!

**Author's Note:**

> He never thought it would end this way. So young.

A whistle.

That was the last sound he heard, before pain- like hot molten metal had been driven through the middle of his chest- jolted through his body. The sounds of battle- steel on steel, the grunt of orcs, the shouts of elves, dwarven war cries- faded, and he heard nothing but a slow thump, the beat of his heart, and even that was fading. One knee gave out from under him, and then the other. He sank down on a field of blood and shattered lives and stayed there, frozen, the world before his eyes blurring and wavering.

The arrow had not come from Bolg but it was Bolg, with his ugly orc face, who stood before him, holding a massive mace in one hand. He sneered at the young dwarf, jagged grey lips parting to reveal horny teeth, and advanced, swinging his mace in an arc from his left hand. Instinct, like the mother he'd left behind, screamed at him to reach for his swords. Where were his swords? Gone now. 

He'd never thought it would end this way.

Bolg was nearly upon him, screaming curses in the sour Black Tongue that wreathed malice into the air, the swing of the mace grew nearer with each moment, yet still Fili knelt. He could not move. He could not breathe. He felt the hot damp of blood running down his chest thickly, sticking to his skin under his armour, and he thought of Kili and of Mother and his uncle Thorin. 

"Fili!"

He heard his brother's scream as if it came from very far away. Then he saw him- all gleaming dark and dwarvish curses and bow upraised in the dull smokey air below the mountain- come bounding up to attack Bolg from the front. Kili, brash as ever, his brother, blood of his blood, hair streaming,, voice raw with emotion and fervour. He fired a single arrow into Bolg's chest, but he was not quick enough. Bolg bellowed at him. The mace swung, the jagged spikes hit the side of Kili's face with a sickening crunch of bone and a sharp red spray of blood across Bolg's pale chest. 

"Kili..."

His voice was thin. Bolg stepped over Kili's prostrate form, ripped the twin swords from his body, and marched on, dead cold eyes set on Fili's face, death steaming from him. Fili hardly realized when the great orc stood over him, screaming insults, hefting his mace. He saw only his brother, lying still on the ground, slumped down, his mangled face turned away from his brother. He felt as though his heart had been ripped from his chest, crushed under the sharp heel of the orc who taunted him. Kill me now, he thought, so I will not have to see Kili die.

The mace swung. He braced himself for pain, for darkness, but then- nothing. He heard a loud scream- "Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!"- and it was Thorin's voice, his uncle's voice, and then he saw Thorin come running up screaming in dwarvish- "Khazâd!"- wielding the long dwarvish blade he'd gleaned for himself from the halls of Erebor, and he drove his sword upward, into Bolg's chest, up into the wound Kili had already left, and then he forced the orc away from his nephew and back, back, into the thickest part of the fray.

And Fili fell, onto his belly.

He could feel death, whispering over his shoulder, and somehow he was not as frightened as he should have been. The wound burned hot in his chest, but the rest of him was cold- so very cold- a cold darkness that was furling gentle fingers around his mind, seducing him into it's embrace. He would have gone to it too, welcomed it like an old lover, but Kili- Kili- sweet Kili, rash Kili who shouldn't die so young. So he began to crawl, hand over hand, legs weak and paralyzed from fear and pain. He pulled himself over dead bodies and broken swords, leaving a smear of thick blood behind him, tasting blood on his tongue, feeling woozy with it. Only Kili mattered. Only seeing his brother a last time.

Somehow, by the grace of the gods or perhaps something more, he reached him. He put out his hand and suddenly touched the familiar shoulder. "Kili-" he rasped, but the word was obscured by a surge of blood that bubbled, hot and thick from his open mouth. He pulled the shoulder, turned Kili onto his back, struggled to gather the small broken body into his arms for a last brotherly embrace. 

"Kili..."

"Fili," Kili said, through his smashed jaw, and he let out a cry of pain. His hands clutched upward to Fili, and he gave a small, weak sob.

"Fili- Fili! I'm scared. I don't want to die. Fili- please-"

"Hush, brother." Fili cradled his brother's head in his arms, smoothed the blood-matted dark hair off the pale forehead to kiss it one last time. "Don't be scared. I'm here. I'm with you."

"Fili!" Kili gasped, clutching harder. His body contorted. Fili could not look at the broken skull, the ripped flesh, of his brother's face. Only at the whole side, the young side- that was how he would he remember him. That was what he would see as he died. "Fili- don't leave me-"

"I won't." Blood dripped from his lips. "I won't ever leave you." He rocked them slowly, and tears mingled with blood.

"I never-" Kili said, but he could not finish. Another sharp gasp, and his body jerked upward, muscles taut as wire. And then he went limp and still. His dark eyes stared out into the sky, sightless and empty.

"Oh, my brother," Fili whispered. It took all his strength to raise his hand up to Kili's eyes and close the lids. The lashes tickled his palm. He bent over his brother's body and let the tears fall, making the blood stream. The pain in his body was fading. The cold was turning warm, and sweet, and suddenly he thought he saw his father and his uncle Frerin ahead of him in the distance, walking to him across the battlefield, strangely unaware of the fighting. They were smiling. Then, from behind them, he saw Kili, smiling and whole, young again, unscarred.

"Come to me, Fili!" Kili called, laughing, and Fili smiled, and he rose, and he went.

Later, walking the field, a certain small hobbit found the two dead brothers laying together, bodies tangled, their hands clutched together; and the hobbit sat down and he wept for them.


End file.
